When Dreaming Ends
by noldorinxlady
Summary: Aoife Byrne always preferred solitude. When she is hired as the new playwright at the restored Opera Populaire, she begins to encounter the ghosts of her past. But what happens when a certain masked man might not be a ghost? ErikOW or ErikOC. Moviebased.


**Title - When Dreaming Ends**

**Author - noldorinxlady**

**Disclaimer - I don't own anything except for the original characters, like Aoife Byrne.**

**Summary - Aoife Byrne always preferred solitude. When she is hired as the new playwright at the restored Opera Populaire, Aoife begins to encounter the ghosts of her past. But what happens when a certain masked man might not be a ghost? ErikOW or ErikOC, with slight ErikChristine. Based on movie/Two years-post POTO.**

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**PROLOGUE - Of Departures and Photographs**

**EARLY OCTOBER, 1873**.

Leaving the city of Toulouse was the most difficult decision Aoife Byrne had ever made in her life. She had spent all the twenty-six years of her life living there and now, she had a reason to leave. About a fortnight ago, she had received a letter from the recently restored Opera Populaire. They had accepted her script and score and decided to use her play as their first production of the season.

And now, she was departing the city that she had spent her childhood in, the city that held so many dear and precious memories to her. Of course, Aoife always wanted to look out upon the rooftops of Paris and visit its beautiful cathedrals, but she always put it off each year. When the letter came that told her that she her play was accepted, it was a saving grace for her.

She watched as the outskirts of Toulouse passed from her seat by the window. She was now sitting in the passenger train headed for Paris. A thin layer of cloud loomed over the vast city, but other than that the day seemed perfect. Soon, the city faded and the every now and then, the train would pass a impoverish village or bit of forest.

Aoife knew that from this day on, she would do her best to seek out her dreams and make them a reality.

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The man in the white mask that covered half of his face slumped down in his chair. Running a hand through his black hair, he released a heavy sigh. On the desk before him was a copy of the script and score of the production he had allowed the managers to put on. After the renovation of the Opera Populaire, those fools Andre and Firmin came back, hoping to seek a better fortune than before. Erik had sent them a rather settling note shortly after their return to the opera house, "suggesting" that he be the one to choose the new play that was to start off the season. 

_Of course, who would refuse under the threat of a painful death? _Erik mused, smiling to himself.

Leaning forward in his chair, Erik glanced at the title page. The play was called "The Greatest Thing", which referred to the age-old quote "the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." He scoffed at the idea, because he knew that love was nigh impossible for someone like him.

Erik reached out for the withering red rose that was idly lying on the desk, beside the script and score. He brought it up and examined it. Like him, this rose was fading after being surrounded by a vast and cold darkness. Eventually, the rose would wither away to nothing. He wondered if the same fate was in store for him.

Suddenly, something had caught his eye. Underneath the title of the play on the cover page was a name that was almost familiar to him.

_Aoife Byrne._

In disbelief, he continued to stare at the page, waiting for the words to change into something else so that he could finally accept the fact that his mind was beginning to play tricks on him. Nothing changed.

He quickly pulled out the drawer on the left side of his desk and began to dig through the mess of papers of old drafts and designs. After a few moments, he couldn't take the suspense and immediately dumped the drawer's contents onto the stone floor. Erik knelt down and saw that on top of the mass of yellowing papers and scripts, he finally found what he was looking for.

It was a miniature photograph. Though the picture was not in color, the subject of the photograph was easily determined. It was a young girl, probably around nine or ten years old. She look well-cared for and had a pretty face. Though she was not smiling, Erik could see that a smile would look pleasing on her lips.

It had been so long since he had set his eyes upon this picture. He had almost forgotten that he was in possession of it. For about fifteen years, it had succumb to the dampness of the underground home, judging by the back of it, which was what he was looking at now. Erik tried to read the rushed script that was almost invisible. After much concentration, he found what the message read:

_Erik -_

_I will always remember you. I hope that your future is brighter than your present. Perhaps we shall see each other again._

_-Aoife By---_

The last few letters of the surname had been too weathered to read. He cursed to himself turned it over to look upon the young girl again.

It could not be Aoife. It just couldn't be.

* * *

Though, a thought lingered in his mind as he began to put the spilled contents of the drawer back. _But…what if it was?_

Aoife opened her eyes to the loud roaring of the locomotive train. She had been traveling for only a few hours, but she had already fallen asleep. In her lap was the opened book _Sense and Sensibility _by the wonderful Jane Austen. She gazed down on it with weary eyes and closed it, slipping it back into the carpet bag that was sitting at her feet.

For a moment, she had felt very at peace. For the past few years, she had gone through many abrupt and unwelcoming changes that had altered her life. When her father died during an accident at the building site that he was working at, Aoife had to learn to live independently when she was twenty years old. Since then, she had built a barrier around herself and other people. She enjoyed the solitude that silence had offered and conversation was definitely not one of her finer points.

She was seven when her mother died of cholera. Aoife never had anyone to raise her as a civilized woman, so she did her best to teach herself. So far, she guessed she had done well.

When growing up, Aoife came from a well-to-do, but not overly wealthy family. They owned a comfortable flat and her father's occupation of architect was very beneficial. Her mother had submitted poetry to newspapers under a male name, and that earned the family a couple hundred extra francs a month, which they had put away for Aoife's education.

Aoife briefly attended a convent school spanning from age six to age eight. Afterwards, her father hired a tutor to educate her because he did not wish to be so far away from his daughter after the sudden death of his dear wife.

Aoife watched as another village passed by. When she would reach Paris, she planned to go straight to the Opera Populaire so that she could get to work as quickly as possible. The managers were allowing her to direct the production also, so it would be done in her vision.

She hoped that when she started to get settled, she would make friends, despite her shy demeanor. She wanted to start a new and refreshing life in Paris.

Aoife closed her eyes and listened to the engine of the train.

_Maybe everything will come together for once._

_

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_**A/N - If you review, you can ask me a question concerning this chapter and I will be sure to answer it in the next one.**


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